


welcome to the demolition derby that is my heart

by welcometothemeatshack



Series: out of every pretty pretty miscalculation, you have got to be my all-time favorite [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, by that I mean the night samoa joe (aka daddy's home) smashed dean's arm between a cart and a wall, seth gets too wrapped up in his own head, tbh this started out as a porn fill and here we are with zero porn, throwback to when dean was injured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 04:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16298366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometothemeatshack/pseuds/welcometothemeatshack
Summary: They’re back in their hotel room after a long night, after trainers and medics and all and sundry have looked at his arm, poked and prodded and made appointments and issued orders. Dean’s shirtless on the bed, got an ice pack wrapped around his bicep, his free hand curled just above the elastic waistband of his shorts. The shower is running, has been for nearly forty minutes, and Dean knows that Seth is trying to take his time, trying to stay in until he’s sure Dean is asleep so that he can come out and avoid Dean’s eyes and his touch and his words and just lie in bed, wallowing in his own misery as he stares at Dean’s fucked arm until his head finally quiets enough that he sleeps.





	welcome to the demolition derby that is my heart

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be real with you guys and let you in on a secret: This began as a porn fill for a blowjob prompt on the kinkmeme, but well, we ended up here and I'm not sure how, so let's just mourn my writing skills and shit, okay.
> 
> Both the title of this fic and this series (I added my previous ambrollins fic to it) are from Fall Out Boy's _Love, Sex, Death_.
> 
> Come catch me at [welcometothemeatshack](http://welcometothemeatshack.tumblr.com/) if you want to scream with me about my WWE livebitching or just anything else in general.

When Dean gets put out, gets injured and declared unable to compete, told he needs surgery, Seth’s expression is gut-wrenching, guilt-ridden, and Dean has to stop this before it fucks them up, before Seth can’t focus on anything other than the feeling of utter horror at the thought that he might have aided in causing Dean’s injury, in costing him months of his wrestling career, if not longer.

They’re back in their hotel room after a long night, after trainers and medics and all and sundry have looked at his arm, poked and prodded and made appointments and issued orders. Dean’s shirtless on the bed, got an ice pack wrapped around his bicep, his free hand curled just above the elastic waistband of his shorts. The shower is running, has been for nearly forty minutes, and Dean knows that Seth is trying to take his time, trying to stay in until he’s sure Dean is asleep so that he can come out and avoid Dean’s eyes and his touch and his words and just lie in bed, wallowing in his own misery as he stares at Dean’s fucked arm until his head finally quiets enough that he sleeps.

Dean won’t have that.

The lamps are off, so the bright strip of light streaming from the bathroom is almost _too_ bright, so Dean closes his eyes against it, both to adjust and to lure Seth closer (he’s like a skittish fawn, at times, the way he avoids contact, jumps at the slightest movement, and Dean was concerned, in the beginning, that it was only with he, Dean, that Seth acted this way, but observations proved that assumption wrong, and Dean isn’t sure if that’s better or worse). He hears Seth’s timid footsteps come closer to the bed, hears the towel he knew Seth had used for his hair hit the floor, hears the slip of bare skin against sheets as Seth crawls into bed in the nude; there’s barely even the slightest dip in the mattress, Seth’s so far away from him, nearly on the edge of the bed, Dean knows without even opening his eyes, on his side and staring at Dean’s dimly lit side of the bed.

“C’mere.” His voice is sudden in the semi-darkness, gruff from barely using it since they’d left the arena two hours ago, Roman in tow, all of them silent in the rental car as the weight of the possible extent of Dean’s injury filled them, Roman and Dean speaking sparingly to try to spin an optimistic hope in the situation (even though Dean knows, he _knows_ , that something is different this time, that something is seriously wrong and he’s not going to be able to get back in the ring for a good few months, at the very least).

Dean hears Seth shift just slightly, barely enough to even make a difference. “Seth,” he says firmly. “Get over here.” It’s the hardness in his tone, he knows, that makes Seth scramble, getting much closer, but still at least six inches away from Dean’s arm, and Dean finally opens his eyes and looks over to see those dark doe eyes, made darker by the barely-there glow of light still shining from the bathroom, focusing intently on it, on the ice pack around it, and he huffs before he shoves himself up with his good arm, shimmies over a few inches and grumbles at Seth to move where Dean had just been. Dean kind of wants to laugh at how careful Seth is when he shifts over Dean (over his shins instead of his waist, the way he would normally have done, brushing suggestively over Dean’s clothed cock in an effort to start something he was too exhausted to finish after a long fight and Dean would chuckle and promise a morning quickie, but only if he let Dean sleep-in), but Dean knows all-too-well the thoughts flying through Seth’s head right now and they don’t amuse him at all.

As Seth lies back down, still trying to keep minimal contact with Dean, Dean rolls his eyes and shifts his good arm to hook around the other man’s shoulders, forcing him close, the length of Seth’s body pressed against Dean’s side, his cheek resting on Dean’s chest and Dean’s nails scratching lightly over the curve of Seth’s left shoulder. After a handful of tense moments, Seth’s body relaxes against him and his arm goes around Dean’s waist, fingers gripping tightly at his hip, and his left leg drapes Dean’s and settles in the space between. “Better,” murmurs Dean, softer now, fingers trailing up to tangle in damp curls, massaging gently.

Seth turns his head, buries his face nearly into Dean’s armpit, mumbling something.

It’s a testament to Dean’s willpower that he doesn’t shake him. “I can’t hear mumblin’, sweetheart.” He doesn’t need to hear it to know what his boy said, though, because if there’s anyone in this world that Dean has ever truly known, inside and out and all over, it’s the man beside him. “You wanna repeat that?”

It’s silent again for a few seconds, but Dean gives a mild tug to the hair in his fist and Seth shifts his head enough to allow his words to be heard this time. “Said ’m’sorry.” There’s a break in his words, a soft hitch of breath that usually precedes a breakdown, and Dean needs to stop it before it gets too far.

“Shit happens, Seth,” he says, adding firmly, “Whatever’s fucked with my arm’s got nothin’ to do with you.” It’s rough, not gentle enough for this Seth, but Dean needs to get his point across (and it’s hard to think about, the unknown, the possibility of whatever’s wrong keeping Dean from doing the only thing that’s ever made him feel _calm_ , keeping him from having this with Seth for an uncertain amount of time). “You and I both know that this sort of thing happens in our line of work.”

“But I didn’t-”

“What didn’t you do? Get between that case and my arm and get yourself fucked up instead?” Dean scoffs. “I don’t need anybody to take any kind of shit for me, princess. It’s bad luck and Samoa Joe’s fault, not yours.”

Seth’s fingers squeeze Dean’s hip tighter, dipping just under the waistband of Dean’s shorts to press into the warm skin there. “My suicide dive-”

“What did I just say?”

Seth quiets, but ducks his head against Dean’s side again, nose pressing just beside his nipple. “It’s- I’m just-” He seems at a loss for words, a rare thing. (The only times Dean can ever get him to forget every word in his head, every voice drilling into him everything he’s done wrong and brining up all his insecurities, is when he has Seth beneath him, but - as much as Dean hates to admit it and as much as he will never admit it to Seth right now - his arm hurts and he’s in pain and he knows he wouldn’t be able to do anything with Seth constantly concerned that he’d accidentally jostle Dean’s arm and medical wouldn’t give him anything for the pain, if he would even have taken it, because they don’t have a clear idea of what is going on just yet and that could mean disaster-like consequences if it’s the wrong sort of thing.)

“We just got back to teaming again, yeah.”

“Not just that,” Seth mumbles. “We just got back to-”

_To **this**._

They’ve just gotten back to _this_ and Dean thinks he really understands now. “Hey,” he chides, nudging Seth’s crown with his chin. Seth looks up at him and, even in the slim glint of light, Dean can make out the remaining guilt in those dark eyes. “Whatever this is,” begins Dean carefully, tilting his head at his injured limb. “It ain’t gonna effect this - you and me. Got it?” Seth’s lip is pressed between his teeth. “I mean it,” Dean adds seriously. “All those things you got flyin’ in that head of yours, whatever they’re sayin’, it’s all bullshit. You and me, we’ve fought too long to get back to this to let something as stupid as my arm fuck it all up again.”

Seth had stopped looking at him halfway through and he feels lips moving against his skin, but doesn’t hear anything; Seth’s mumbling again, but before Dean can force him to speak up, Seth does it himself. “Okay.” It’s quiet and soft and reluctant and Dean knows Seth doesn’t believe it yet, but he’ll keep shoving those words down his boy’s throat as often as possible until he does.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s only slightly more confident than the _okay_ , but Dean will accept it, for now.

“Good.” He’s so close to the _good boy_ he usually adds, but Seth doesn’t need that right now, so Dean just wraps his good arm tighter around Seth, the crook of his elbow against the still-damp hair at the nape of Seth’s neck as his fingers release the hair Dean had been holding captive and travel down Seth’s bicep, thumb smoothing gentle patterns over the exact spot Dean could feel throbbing in his own arm.

Dean presses a kiss to the part in Seth’s dark hair, listens to the sigh as Seth settles more comfortably against him, the fingers at his hip moving to splay over the trail of hair leading to his groin, tickling Dean just enough to make his abdomen twitch before goes still and, within moments, gives in to sleep.

Uncertainty is the thing Dean hates most when it comes to his career, his livelihood, and that’s what this injury is right now - _uncertain_. (He has the feeling that it’s not as uncertain as he want to believe, that he already knows it’ll mean months of recovery and rehab and a surgery or two, but he can’t think of that right now, won’t until the morning comes and the scans and the doctors tell him for _certain_.) Dean used to be unsure of the direction of his career, of his _life_ , but as soon as he’d met Seth, he’d always had a clear view of what he wanted in both - whether they were rivals or friends or lovers or enemies or working their way back to one or more of those things by fighting or fucking or loving, Dean has always known what he’s wanted when it comes to Seth and this moment in his life is no exception.

Whatever happens with this, he and Seth have worked too hard to let anyone or anything come between them now, and Dean is going to make _certain_ Seth remains as sure of that as he is.

With the soft snuffling of Seth’s quiet snores filling his ears, Dean presses another kiss to Seth’s head and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading to the end, precioussssss. Come follow or shout at me or toss some prompts at me at [welcometothemeatshack](http://welcometothemeatshack.tumblr.com/) because I'm hopeless and ily.


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